Happy in stilletos - reflections on impending womanhood

Been away sooooo long.... why? Because each time I saw the last post I said to myself: that's exactly what I want to write, nothing further to say.

But the issue today is: high heels. After a fruitful conversation with someone a while ago, I started wondered: what are high heels? Can I be happy without stilletos? Is it what I am missing to become a self-confident modern woman? I am adolescent or even childish not to have a pair? And what's up with long legs? Do I need those to be attractive, or to feel good about myself?


High heels are a leftover from the corsage. Picture a man in high heels. A manly man, a man's man, a family man in high heels. What's so strange and wrong about that picture? What's so disturbing?

High heels are the epithome of fragility, ethereal figures, floating but not walking. You have to learn how to walk with them, they are effort made invisible. High heels make you perfect, in a "natural way"- a goodess floating gracefully above the ground.

They hurt, are uncomfortable, alter dramatically your height, make you a little unrecognizable sometimes. You can't run well. But everyone says you can, "you just need to practice". They make you be tense all the time - in perfect equilibrium. That is also labelled as healthy exercice. In sum: only careless women or those with no self-esteem pass on a good pair of thin platforms.


It's what others do. They wear high heels. Of course we should do so too. Plus, they help mark special events, special garments. They give men a sign that you are desirable and are out tonight, not mopping your floor or watching a soap opera. Yes, you are a fully packaged woman. You will not be cuaght off-guard.


And your feet must be beautiful! Paint the nails, get pedicures, apply creams. You have walked in a baking sun? Hurry to the bathroom, apply creams and masks and all the other things, before someone sees how rough your feet are! God forbid anyone knows you walk and run and use your feet to stand on! That's not what they were made for! They were made for sparkling Cinderella shoes, to be displayed and approved. In a pair of beautiful high heels.


High heels today are obligatory, normative, expected in the mainstream world. Another rule, another requirement. But be careful! Do not exagerate, do not go "over the top" with some badly matched skirt and high heels. Otherwise you may end up looking like a tramp, a prostitute, a lost woman. Keep the balance, balance yourself on the high heels: a lot of make up, but not too much, short skirts, but not too shorts, colourful dresses but not too colourful, original but not too originial.


And careful with bright red lipstick.





Can't help but get tired... Of this self-warranted criticisms, that have a justification bigger than me. Being a woman is suppose to be a painful, sinful job. It involves paranoia, self-degradation, self-control and a complete lack of faith on the equal value of men (because they are all pigs you know...)

Sometimes I wonder what made me so insensitive to these societal constraints, so uncooperative? Don't we all... Then I think of litening to No Doubt on the radio with this song. Was that it?

Only Antonioni knows how it feels

When everything loses meaning, what do you? When it truly loses meaning, when the organisation of basic structures seems arbitrary: what will you do?

To cease to exist without even stopping...

Jerry Garcia and the Jellyfish

Many posts have been going through my mind, but none of them got written down. "A Manifesto against lace" and "Dirty Cold City", "Back on my Feet"... these are the titles of the posts that will remain in my mental safebox for now But today total laziness about my homework and the sunshine and my signing of a contract (I love signing important things..) aH.... It' the perfect time for a double post.

They Don't Make Men Like Jerry Garcia Anymore! A.K.A. Redefining the sex-symbol.

Today the sunshine induce me to put Wake of the Flood on, and do some reading with a Grateful Dead background. I had heard it before, but I think it just had to be heard many times before I could fully appreciate the amazingness behind it, the subtle harmonies and the poetry of teh lyrics.

My personal favourite:
Stella Blue



And then there is Jerry Garcia..... oh Jerry Garcia.


Jerry Garcia is not the epithome of sexiness in the conventional sense. But, I will argue, here is where the conventional sense reveals its futility. Jerry Garcia is truly a seductive character, a charming man. Pherhaps it is the fact that he is such a great musician, that you see him singing and playing these songs. But he is so much more than that. He is beautiful to look at, he is beautiful when he speaks, when he walks. He is not a beautiful cover page, he is a beautiful living breathing person. His face inspires confidence and friendliness, but has such special features that sticks in your mind.


Jerry Garcia is the unsung sex symbol of the hippie 1960's. He is the embodiment of real beauty, of warmth and charm, style and talent. In a way he, like David Crosby, embody an aesthetic male ideal that has disappeared. Maybe it's our society's condemnation of young beards and moustaches as ridiculous? Maybe it's the loss of the value of conversation, of knowing how to speak well and seduce others through words? Maybe a general downplay of creativity as attractive? Who knows.

One of my favourite Jerry Garcia moments: his little confession to Janis Joplin. "Janis, I love you ever since the day I saw you". DOn't know what happened later. And of course, they were all a little bit into the music... but you got to love it at 4:18.



When in doubt... knit tentacles!

And the latest knitting news: here it is: THE JELLYFISH!

This was so much fun to do, and I hope the person I made it for will like it. Used scraps of yarn I had from other things. The funky orange ones has perfect colours =)
(click on the pictures for the project page on Ravelry )

It's a Lazy Day, It's a Crazy Day

See.. I had written this whole post yesterday about a reinterpretation of Simone de Beauvoir because of some existential trouble. And then I looked it over, talked with a friend on the other side of the freakking ocean (really helped and thanks ifyou ever read this). And then realised

what the hell. Screw the reading for tomorrow and the emails I should send and the talk I shoudl have and all. Whathever.

I'm just going to put this song on and knit a jellyfish.


Cause if there is someone you can count on is the Flying Burrito Brothers...

Dark Side of the Moon Knitting Pattern

And voilá! It's done! (it was already a couple of weeks ago, but only now did I get a chance to post it here)

"I'll See You On the Dark Side of the Moon"
Wall Hanging

For the project click on the picture above

To download the pattern (which includes a great and tested colourwork scheme to follow for any project with the logo) click on :

http://www.ravelry.com/patterns/library/dark-side-of-the-moon-wall-hanging

The pattern is in English and has quite a lot of explanation and tips, but do not hesitate to email me for translations for Français and Português (will make them available shortly) =)

This took me about a week to do. It's tricky with the intarsia (it was the first time I used the technique as well). But the result is very satisfactory in terms of reproducing the effect with enough nuances.

To improve/future plans:
- make a black sweater with this on the back
- try even more colours in the rainbow (need to fins exact shades - diffidcult - and manage all the yarns at the same time - extreme =) - )
- experiment with some silverish yarn around the prism


Put the record on and knit away ....

Songs for the Forgotten Girls or 3 bitter and sad songs

As I was watching a series that marked my childhood about a bright young girl in a small american town, I remembered where so many feelings of revolt and frustration have come from for me and so many others.

We were sold the story. Small bright young girls, dreaming of adventure and glory. Eager, passionate. Waiting. Waiting for Marlon Brando to stop for a coffee in a motorcycle. Waiting for the sweet and tender alien hunted down by government to take us on a world of dangerous adventures. Waiting for Danny to show us what summer rommance was all about, for Cry-Baby Walker to make us into bad girls or for some handsome stranger to teach us how to dance. Waiting to find out around the corner, by accident, or destinies.

And we waited, and we waited. And no one came around. And we realised we were sold into a cruel myth that kept us wasting our lives away for a man that would never come, for a life we would never have.

Some of us still had it in them to get up. And we went away. We bought the motorcycle and rode it ourselves, and we got what we wanted in life with a bit more hardship than predicted. We hitched-hicked West, we flew North or we took the bus South, and left our small little towns where american highschools failed to materialise and no leather-jacket ever showed up. And we are glad we did. We are proud of ourselves.

But once in a while, the little girls in us still feel the pain of being left behind, the betrayal of having been tricked into allienation. We feel revolt and an immense sadness, now rationalized and overcome, but still there.

These are some songs for us. For all the forgotten girls.

A little bit of true poetry or what is on my MP3 player these days

By the Dresden Dolls

BAD HABIT

biting keeps your words at bay
tending to the sores that stay
happiness is just a gash away
when i open a familiar scar
pain goes shooting like a star
comfort hasn't failed to follow so far...

and you might say it's self-indulgent
you might say its self-destructive
but, you see, it's more productive
than if i were to be healthy

& pens and penknives take the blame
crane my neck & scratch my name
but the ugly marks
are worth the momentary gain...
when i jab a sharpened object in
choirs of angels seem to sing
hymns of hate in memorandum

and you might say it's self-indulgent
and you might say it's self-destructive
but, you see, it's more productive
than if i were to be happy

and sappy songs about sex and cheating
bland accounts of two lovers meeting
make me want to give mankind a beating

and you might say it's self-destructive
but, you see, i'd kick the bucket
sixty times before i'd kick the habit

and as the skin rips off i cherish the revolting thought
that even if i quit
there's not a chance in hell i'd stop
and anyone can see the signs
mittens in the summertime
thank you for your pity, you are too kind

and you might say its self-inflicted
but you see that's contradictive
why on earth would anyone practice self destruction?

and pain opinions are sitcom feeding
they dont know that their minds are teething
makes me want to give mankind a beating

i'm tried bandages and sinking
i've tried gloves and even thinking
i've tried vaseline
i've tried everything
and no-one cares if your back is bleeding
they're concerned with their hair receding
looking back it was all maltreating
every thought that occurred misleading

makes me want to give myself a beating....